There's Your Trouble
by purplepagoda
Summary: Tony wakes up handcuffed to a bed, with something over his head. Is it a kidnapping,or a rendezvous gone wrong? His captor is a a killer.Will he figure out who she is, andshe wants from him? He'll realize there is no stopping her. TIVA?
1. Thin Line

He opens his eyes, and is surrounded by blackness. There is not light. He quickly realizes that he is restrained. Handcuffed, to the bed, ankles, and wrists, to a four post bed. There was something over his head. He was in nothing but boxer shorts.

He tries to search his memory, to remember the night before. He comes up empty. Was this supposed to be a game? Or was it real? Was this about kinky sex? Or was his life in danger?

He tries to get a sense of his surroundings. He listens, he hears quiet breathing. There was someone else in the room. He has no sense of time, or the size of the room. Everything is pitch black. He takes a deep breath, instantly regretting it. He inhales the fibers of what's covering his head.

He doesn't hear footsteps, but he suddenly feels as if someone's standing next to him. His feeling is quickly confirmed, when he feels the blade of a knife, against the skin of his neck. He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

His captor releases the pressure of the knife. The captor removes some of his chest hair, with the knife. Finally Tony breaks the silence.

"Are you going to tell me why I'm here? What did I do?"

He gets no answer.

"Do I know you? Did I do something to you?"

He still gets no answer.

"Is this some sort of game?"

Nothing.

"Can I have some sort of answer?"

He feels the pressure on the bed change. The assailant is no longer on the bed, next to him. He listens, but the captor moves quietly, nearly imperceptibly. He hears a drawer open. Seconds pass, and finally the captor gives him an answer. He hears a gun cock. The barrel is pressed against his temple.

"Ok. You're pissed? I get it," he tries to goad the captor into speaking.

His kidnapper doesn't say a thing.

"Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

He feels the captor reach over him, maintaining the gun pressed to his head. Fingers gently trace something on his chest. The cold hands give him goosebumps. He picture the lines in his mind. Finally he realizes what the captor has written.

"No?" he questions.

No, the captor retraces.

"Are you going to tell me who you are?"

The captor once again traces, No.

"A hint."

No, again.

He can't seem to shake the feeling that there is something familiar about the assailant. He can't place it, so he asks another question.

"Do I know you."

This time the captor doesn't trace No, but Yes, instead.

"Yes? What did I do?"

There is silence.

He utilizes his other senses. He starts with what he's heard. Next to nothing, he thinks as the barrel of the gun is still pressed against his head. Whoever it was, was quiet, stealthy, even. Next he moves on to feel. Cold hands. Small, delicate hands. Fingers. He could tell by the fingers, by the way that the pads were worn down at the ends, whoever it was played piano, or maybe spent a lot of time typing. Wow, that didn't narrow it down much.

He takes a breath, trying to use his only other available sense. As he breathes he smells. One sniff, nothing. Second sniff, something. But what? It was something familiar. A smell he had smelled before. What was it, though? Where had he smelled it. It was kind of like flowers, but muted. It wasn't perfume. A candle, no. Too close to be a candle. It had to be coming from his captor. His captor wasn't wearing flowers. Shampoo! Of course. It was shampoo. Where had he smelled the shampoo before?

A light bulb turns on in his head. A woman. His captor was a woman? He was handcuffed to a bed, with a bag over his head, by a woman? That really didn't narrow it down, at all. He had jilted ex-lovers, by the dozen. It could be any one of a dozen of them. It could even be someone new. Where had he been last night? Probably a bar.

Yes, a bar. He had gone out after work, but driving to the bar was the last thing that he remembered. Who had he met? What did he have to drink? Did he pick someone up? Had someone slipped him something?

"You're a woman," he announces.

She traces letters into his chest, with her finger, Good.

He feels the gun being removed from his head. He waits for her next move. He feels the pressure of the mattress shift under him. He takes a deep breath, waiting for what she's going to do next. He feels her straddling him. He sighs, in confusion, and frustration.

She doesn't say a word.

Why wasn't she saying anything? Clearly it was someone he knew. She had a voice that he would recognize. But who was it? His thoughts are rudely interrupted. A finger slowly migrates down his chest. It stops for a brief moment, as his breath hitches. It continues for a few more inches. It stops, when it reaches his iliac crest. The finger rests on his hip bone, for a few seconds.

He feels her weight shift. He can tell she's on her knees, with her feet out, instead of tucked under her. Her skin is soft, freshly shaved. He feels her leg close to his. Was he seriously thinking about her, in that way? A woman had kidnapped him, and he found it exciting? That was sad. She could kill him. He doesn't realize that her finger is no longer resting on his hip. He does notice when her hand touches the inside of his thigh.

He finds himself having difficulty, not losing control. Whoever this was, was toying with him. She was playing a game. A game that she was going to win, if she wasn't careful. Who ever this was knew how to handle him, knew how to push his buttons. She knew what to do, to make him hot, and bothered.

He feels his cheeks flush. The blood rushes through his body. Adrenaline, and hormones raging through his veins. This was not going to be pleasant. He takes a deep breath. He breathes in the familiar scent once again. Flowers. He couldn't tell you what kind, but he knew he had encountered them before. Them, more than one type of flower. A shampoo. What kind of shampoo? Whose shampoo? Whose hair did he ever smell? He takes another deep breath, he gets another whiff of shampoo. It was clear that she had recently washed her hair, because the smell was still fresh. Herbal Essences. Who did he know who used Herbal Essences?

His neurons fire. He comes up with an answer in seconds. The answer disturbs, and confuses him. No, he couldn't be right. It couldn't be her. She wouldn't be that cruel. Yes, she would. She loved toying with him. He must have done something to really piss her off.

She reaches past him, and uncuffs one of his hands. His left hand. His non-dominant hand. He touches her. Her legs. He touches her back. He quickly realizes that she isn't wearing much. He touches the fabric. Silk. His hand lingers on her back. Not on her clothing, but on her hair.

"Ziva, this isn't funny," he tells her as his temperature rises, along with other things.


	2. About Last Night

The next thing he hears is laughter. Distinct laughter. He knew that laugh. Anywhere in the world, he would know that laugh. He would know her smell, her laugh, her hands anywhere.

"Can you take his off my head now?"

She leans forward. Through the covering on his head he can feel her warm breath, against his ear. She whispers seductively, "No."

"I'm dying here."

"You aren't dying."

"Please. Are you done torturing me yet?"

"No."

"What did I do to make you so vengeful?"

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

He makes the sudden realization that he is in her bed, in boxer shorts. She is wearing a piece of lingerie. Had they had sex? Had he met her at the bar? The thoughts race through his head. Finally he answers her.

"No."

"We went for drinks after work."

"Did we?"

"No. Nothing happened."

"So why am I handcuffed to your bed?"

"That is a great question."

"And the answer?"

"You had a lot to drink."

"I got that much."

"I took your keys."

"How did I end up here?"

"Neither of us were in a condition to drive last night. My apartment was just considerably closer to the bar."

"Oh."

"You passed out on my couch, after vomiting into my palm tree."

"Is that some sort of euphemism?"

"No. I have a potted palm tree, in the living room. You threw up in it."

"You're angry at me because I threw up on your tree?"

"No."

"What did I do?"

"You wandered into my room in the middle of the night, and crawled in bed with me."

"Oh."

"First you wanted to snuggle, but when I kicked you, it seemed to wake you up."

"I tried..."

"You didn't try anything."

_The night before:_

_"Ziva, why are you being so mean?"_

_"You are hot. Stay over there. I don't want to melt, and I definitely do not want to snuggle with you."_

_"Can I ask you something?"_

_"Can I stop you?"_

_"I'm sure you could."_

_"What, Tony?"_

_"Why haven't we ever..." he trails off._

_"Ever what?" she questions in exasperation._

_"You know."_

_"Why haven't we ever what?"_

_"Had sex?"_

_"We're partners."_

_"You've slept with people that you worked with before."_

_"That is true, but I have never really had a partner before."_

_"You don't want it to complicate things?"_

_"I..."_

_"Cause I would be ok, if you just wanted to have sex."_

_"What makes you think I want to have sex with you?"_

_"Because you know that it would be mind blowing."_

_"You certainly are sure of yourself, aren't you?"_

_"It's more about us, than me. I mean we know each other so well, that it would have to be good."_

_"I see."_

_"So what do you say?"_

_"Go to sleep."_

_"But..."_

_"We can discuss it when we're sober."_

_"Please."_

_"I am not going to have sloppy, disappointing, drunk sex with you."_

_"Are you always such a mean drunk?"_

_"Go to sleep!"_

He listens to her tell the story, knowing that she had remembered every detail correctly, even if he couldn't remember. Even if she was drunk. He takes a moment to process.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"What time is it?"

"Eight fifteen, why?"

"We're supposed to be at work."

"We called in sick."

"Sick? With what? Did you call Gibbs and tell him that we have hangovers?"

"The flu."

"So are you hungover?"

"Not anymore," she admits.

"You've been awake for a while?"

"Hours."

"Plotting your revenge? What time did you get up?"

"O530."

"What time did we get in last night? We didn't even leave work until almost eleven."

"A quarter til three."

"So you're vengeful, annoyed, and sleep-deprived today? Is that why I am hand cuffed to your bed?"

"That is part of the reason."

"Can you take this off my head, now?"

She concedes. She takes the covering off of his head. His eyes take a few minutes to adjust to the light. When things come into focus, he is unable to takes his eyes off her. She is still straddling him. He touches the small of her back.

"You need to get off me."

"Why?"

"Ziva, please," he begs.


	3. Moving On

"Since when have you ever been insecure?"

"Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"I am begging you, please get off me."

"What are you going to do, if I don't?"

"I can't do anything. I am asking nicely, please."

"No," she shakes her head.

"I can't..."

"I know," she smiles devilishly.

"Then why are you still there?"

"Because karma's a bitch," she answers.

"Ziva..."

He looks at her with pleading eyes. She stares back at him, shamelessly. He realizes that she isn't wearing her necklace. She always wore it, even when she slept. This wasn't a good sign. She wasn't playing with him. She was, but... she wasn't going to let him off the hook.

She smiles, "Don't worry, the walls are soundproof."

"I..."

She leans forward, and presses her lips up, against his ear. "You wanted this, and you're not going to get out of it," she warns.

"You're taking this too far."

"Am I?"

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"Get hurt? You're handcuffed to the bed."

"I didn't mean physically. I might be taller, and outweigh you, but we both know that you could drop me to the ground in less than a second."

"That is true."

"You really want to do this?"

"You don't?"

"You know that I do."

"What's stopping you?"

"I am handcuffed to the bed."

"You've got a free hand."

"Ziva."

"If I uncuff you, will you run?"

"No."

Finally she climbs off him. She moves over to the nightstand. She stands with her back to him. He is unable to take his eyes off her. As she opens the drawer he realizes how serious she is. He notices that there are no lines under the silk nightgown. It wasn't much of a nightgown. It cut off just below her cheeks.

"You're not wearing underwear," he says out loud.

She doesn't confirm or deny. She simply dangles a key in front of him. She uncuffs him. She places the key back in the drawer. He notices that she has something in her other hand.

"What's in your hand?"

She smiles, and places the object in his hand. "You will probably be needing these."

He stares at the two green, foam ear plugs. His eyes lock on hers. He feels his pupils dilate.

"Although, they probably aren't going to block out all of the noise."

"I can't believe that we're actually doing this."

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"Does it look like I'm having second thoughts."

She grins, "Not at all."

"So why are we still talking about this?"

"You're the one still talking."

"Right. Is there anything I should know first?"

"Like what? I don't bite, or anything."

"Not what I meant."

"Are you asking if I've been tested?" she furrows her brow in confusion.

"No, I trust you. That isn't what I'm asking."

"What are you asking, exactly?"

"Is there anything I should, or shouldn't do?"

"As long as you let me be on top, we're fine."

"Nothing else?"

She racks her brain, as she looks into his eyes. She knew what he was asking. Finally she answers.

"Don't touch my neck. Don't kiss my neck," she reveals.

"Ok," he agrees.

She leans forward. She feels his fingers press against her back. She takes a deep breath, and then a leap of faith.

Later he finds her laying next to him, drifting to sleep. He carefully reaches for the blanket, on the floor next to the bed. He throws it over them. She scoots in closer. He lets her slip under his arm. She rests her hand, and her head on his chest. He pushes hair out of her face. She takes a deep breath.

"Go to sleep," he muses.

Within a few minutes they are both deep asleep. Both of them snore. They don't wake until morning turns to afternoon. He wakes up first. He finds her still snoring, with her head pressed against his chest. Her ear rests against his heart. He turns his head and looks at the clock. 1:26.

1:26 in the afternoon, on a Thursday. He was supposed to be at work. Instead he was here, in his partner's apartment. He was in her bed. She was lying on him, asleep. They were covered only by a single blanket, and nothing else. He just listens as she sleeps.

He notices her breathing change. He watches her face, as she opens her eyes. She looks up at him.

"Are you awake?" he questions.

"Mm hm," she murmurs sheepishly.

"You can go back to sleep, if you want."

"What time is it?"

"Almost one thirty."

"I'm starving."

"I can go get us something to eat."

"Ok."

"Can I ask you something first, though?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"How long, what?"

"Has it been?"

"How long has what been?"

"When was the last time you had sex?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, I'm just curious."

"A long time, almost two years."

"Oh."

"I just haven't been able to, no matter how much I wanted to."

"Why now? Why me?"

"Because I trust you."


	4. If You Need Me

He looks over at her, as she takes a bite of cheeseburger. She doesn't say anything, she just chews her food. Her eyes ask the question for her. He knows that look well. _What?_ He can almost hear her say.

"You really were hungry."

She swallows, "I told you that I was."

"You do realize that isn't kosher, right?"

She wipes her mouth with her napkin. "Am I the poster child for being kosher?"

"No."

"I eat what I want, when I'm hungry."

"I know," he smiles.

"Something else on your mind?"

"This doesn't change anything, does it?"

"What are you talking about? Me eating a cheeseburger?"

"Not the cheeseburger, what happened this morning."

"What would it change?"

"I don't know, there are a lot of Brenda Bittner's in the world."

"I am not going to go on facebook and change my relationship status."

"You're sure?"

"Why would I? Our relationship hasn't changed."

"You're sure?"

"We've been in a relationship for five years. I don't know what else you would call a partnership. Sex doesn't change any of that, at least not for me."

He grins, "Did you know that the longest relationship I've had with a woman in my adult life, is you?"

"It's kind of sad, because I would have to say the same."

"Why are we so screwed up? Why is it that we can make things work between us, and we can never make romantic relationships work."

"Because romantic relationships come with expectations. Expectations that we aren't very good at meeting. When you're in a romantic relationship people expect you to change."

"You never have to change for me. I like you just the way you are."

"That is why our partnership works. We may have qualities that sometimes annoy each other, but we accept each other, for who we are."

"What are we doing wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why can't we make things work, with the other people in our lives?"

"Maybe the reason that we work, no matter how hard things get is because we put our lives in each other's hands."

"I just wish that other people understood me, the way that you do."

"I know. I wish that other people could read me, the way that you do."

"Do you think we'll ever have what we want?"

"What do you mean?"

"The elusive, one?"

"I wish that I could say yes, but I can't. We're both terrible at relationships. We do all the wrong things. We never say the right things. We always choose the wrong people. We pick people that we want to be with, but shouldn't."

"How do we fix it?"

"Tony, I don't think we can."

"Can I make a proposal?"

"What is that?"

"You have terrible taste in men."

"Yes, I will admit that, but you have even worse taste in women."

"Why don't I set you up with someone I think would be good for you?"

"Can I do the same?"

"I don't see why not. What could it hurt?"

"It's never going to be easy for us," she reminds him.

"Maybe we should try harder."

"I don't know how much harder I can try."

"Ray?"

"What about him?"

"You aren't in love with him? He's not the one?"

"He is fun to be with, but we're just friends."

"I see."

"And E.J.?"

"She's fun to be with. She's a goodtime girl."

"You want more?"

"You don't?"

"Yes, and that's the problem."

"Ziva?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad we did this."

"Which part?"

"All of it. I'm glad that I could help you. I did help you, right?"

She smiles, "Yes, you did."

"You seemed more surprised than I did, when you didn't scream."

"I expected that I would."

"But you didn't. Are you going to tell me why?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I am fully aware that there are things that you don't like to share. I know it's hard for you to talk about any of it, but I'm always here for you, if you want to. It doesn't matter when it is, or where I am, or what I'm doing. If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. You know that, right?"

"Yes."

"I won't push you."

"You haven't."

"It hasn't been easy."

"Why do you want to know?"

He shrugs, "I guess that maybe I think if you say it out loud, if I hear it, then I can take a little bit of the burden off you. Sometimes I feel like you're holding back. Some days I look at you, and I wonder if the old Ziva is ever going to come back. I wonder if I'm ever going to get any of you back."

"The old Ziva?"

"When you came back, you weren't the same person. I think that we can both admit that. You were someone else."

"You miss the old me?"

"I miss the fearless, unbroken version of you."


	5. Karma

She looks at him. The honesty, and caring in his eyes reminds her that he's always going to have her back. His smile reminds her that he was the one person who was never going to hurt her. He had proven himself. People could say that they would go to the ends of the earth, for her, but few of them truly meant it. He had come for her, even when there was no hope of finding her. He was always going to be there for her. He wasn't going to betray her. He had earned her trust, and he knew how important it was to keep.

In their daily life, chasing down murderers, it was easy to forget the important things in life. It was easy to take for granted, the relationship they had. Together they were an unstoppable force, apart they were just two pieces. Two pieces useless, without the other. Just two people, with one mission. Best friends, who would never allow anything to tear them apart, because it was what was the foundation of their friendship that was the most important thing in the world.

Finally she makes the decision. He waits in silence, as her brown eyes lock on to him. He senses that she believes him. That she is finally ready to reveal part of the story to him. It was time for her to finally show him some of the broken pieces that made up the person she had become. The person who could take a life, without a second thought, but no longer did. Someone he could trust, with his life. Someone who he could always count on. His best friend. His partner. He was the mast, and she was the sails. Without her, his life had little meaning, and no direction.

Finally she breaks the silence. "I learned not to scream."

"In Somalia?"

She tries to block out the images, but it is impossible. Her gift had always been her curse. A photographic memory that was not selective. It just took pictures, and she couldn't stop it, or erase them. She had no control over it. She had control over this though. She plays some of the picture in her mind, and then answers.

"I did not want to give them the satisfaction, of screaming. Screaming was like applause to them. It only fueled the fire inside of them. I learned not to scream."

"Now you can't?"

She shrugs, "I don't want to."

"You know that at some point you have to get your voice back, right?"

"Yes. It has taken far longer than I expected. The past is the past, but that doesn't make it go away. It just makes it farther away."

He points to her burger, "Are you going to finish that?"

"If you touch my food I will cut your finger off," she warns.

"It's going to get cold."

"You interrupted me."

"I'm sorry. Please continue."

"I will."

"You think that Gibbs is going to be upset with us, for missing work?"

"Are you afraid of him?"

"Not anymore. He's getting soft in his old age."

"I disagree."

"Did you have to tell him that we had the flu, though?"

"What did you want me to tell him? The truth?"

"No, but now I feel like I have a tickle, in my throat."

She rolls her eyes, and returns to her burger.

Hours later he lies on her couch. She lies on the floor. She exhales, and he hears the snot fly out of her nose. He hands a tissue down to her.

"Thanks," she proceeds to blow.

"I blame you."

She wipes her nose, and throws the tissue in the bag full of used tissues.

"For what?"

"Making us sick," he coughs.

"I didn't make us sick," she argues.

"Who should I blame? Karma?"

"Maybe."

"Do you have a thermometer?"

"In the medicine cabinet," she answers.

He rolls off the couch, and steps over her. She lies on her back, on the floor, next to the couch. He wonders into her bathroom, and grabs a thermometer. When he doesn't return within a minute she begins to get concerned.

"Are you still alive in there? You didn't cough up a lung did you?"

He returns to the living room.

"I don't think this thing can possible be right," he tells her.

"Why what did it say?"

"102.3"

Her hand flies up. "Let me see it."

He drops it into her palm. She wipes it off, with her sleeve.

"Oh, now you're concerned about germs? We're both sick. We've swapped spit, and bodily fluids, I don't think a little bit more is going to hurt you."

She puts the thermometer in her mouth. It takes nearly a minute, before it beeps. Tony stands over her.

"Well?" he questions.

"102.8," she replies.

"Maybe it's right. I feel like I'm boiling."

"I'm freezing."

"Really? I never would have guessed."

She looks at her attire. She had pulled on a pair of gym shorts, and a t-shirt when before he came back with lunch. Over that she was wearing a pair of sweats pants, and a hoodie, and wool socks.

"We must be really sick," he tells her.

"Let's get some sleep. We'll feel better when we wake up."

"Are you going to sleep on the floor?"

"I'm too tired to move."

"Suit yourself," he flips off the light, and climbs onto the couch.

An hour later she wakes herself up, coughing. She has to roll onto her side, to catch her breath. Tony sits up, and looks at her.

"You ok?"

"No," she admits.

"I think we should go to the," before he can finish he starts coughing.

He doesn't even finish his sentence. When she stops coughing she pushes herself off the floor, and grabs her car keys off the coffee table. A few moments pass, and his coughing stops too.

"Come on, let's go," she insists.

He slowly gets off the couch, and joins her at the door. "Coming."

She drives them to the local E.R. Where they wait for over an hour. Finally she is able to charm a doctor into seeing them. They are ushered into an exam room, together. He examines both of them. He listens to their lungs, and then tells them what he thinks.

"I'm going to send the two of you to x-ray."

"For what?" Tony questions.

"I think you've got pneumonia."

"Great, just great."

Twenty minutes later a nurse returns to their room, after they have returned from x-ray. The nurse hands them each prescriptions.

"You guys have pneumonia. The prescriptions are for an antibiotic, and some medicated cough syrup, that will help you sleep. The note is excusing you from work for the next five days."


	6. Sick Day

They wake up, and take turns in the shower. They sloppily pull on clothes. They grab their car keys, and head out the door. They ride separately.

When they arrive at NCIS they ride the elevator together. He tries to hold back his cough. She takes a shallow breath.

"Do you really think that he won't notice?"

He pulls a tissue out of his pocket and hands it to her, "Blow your nose."

They get off the elevator, and make their way to their desks. They plop into their chairs. McGee looks over at them. He scrutinizes their appearances.

Ziva's hair is pulled into a pony tale. Tony's shirt is untucked. He notices a tissue sticking out of Ziva's pants pocket. Tony sniffles. McGee leaves his desk. He moves towards them. He stops between them.

"The two of you look terrible."

"Don't get too close. We're sick," Tony admits.

"So why are you here?"

"Because we called off sick yesterday," Ziva reminds.

"You don't think that Gibbs will notice?"

"Notice what, McGee?" Gibbs questions.

"That nobody brought you a cup of coffee this morning," McGee tries to cover.

Gibbs examines Tony, and Ziva. He shakes his head.

"Tony, Ziva pack your stuff."

"Where are we going boss?" Tony questions.

"Home."

"Home? Why?"

"Because you're both sick. Go home, and get well."

"Boss we're fine," Tony argues.

"You both look miserable. Go home, and get some rest. That's an order."

Hours later they find themselves in her living room. He lies at one end of her couch. She lies at the opposite end. Between them is a box of tissues, and a bag of cough drops. On the floor are two plastic bags; one at each end. They toss the used tissues into them. Tony coughs.

"Ziva?"

"Huh?"

"I think we should take some more of that cough syrup."

"Why?"

"It helps us sleep."

"I'm not sleepy."

"You need to go to sleep."

"Why?"

"You look terrible. Your face is all pale. You have dark circles under your eyes. Your nose is as red as Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer."

"You don't look so great, yourself."

"Can we take some cough syrup, and go to bed?"

"Ok," she agrees.

An hour later she wakes up, coughing. She rolls over, and finds him stripping down.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hot," he reveals.

"I'm freezing."

"Come over here, I'll warm you up."

"You are nearly naked."

"You are worried about that now? What is going to happen? We're both too exhausted to do anything."

"Fine."

She moves towards him. She stops next to him.

"You aren't even touching me. Come on."

She scoots closer.

"You might as well lay on top of me."

"You can't be serious."

"Your teeth are chattering."

Against her better judgment she lies half of her body on top of him. She presses her head against his chest. Her chest, and one arm lie across him, diagonally. He pulls the blankets over her. He tucks her hair behind her ear. This proves more difficult than expected, because her hair is matted to her face, with a cold sweat. Finally they both return to sleep.

When he wakes up she's not in the bed. He peels off the covers. All of the blankets are soaked in sweat. He wanders towards the bathroom. He follows the sound of the shower. He quietly goes into the bathroom. He walks past the shower. He closes the lid of the toilet, and sits on the seat. He breathes in the steam, as she showers.

She turns the shower off. She pulls back the curtain. She reaches for a towel. She stares at her partner. He looks at her. Her cheeks turn red in embarrassment. He hands her a towel. Maybe it wasn't embarrassment. Maybe it was flushing from a fever. She manages to get her towel wrapped around her, before she goes off.

"What are you doing in here? I was taking a shower."

"I didn't come to watch you."

"Then why are you in here?"

"I came for the steam."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth."

"Should I leave you alone with your steam, then?"

"No, don't open the door. The steam will escape."

"You want me to stay in here, with you?"

"Yes."

"Why does all of our quality time have to be in the bathroom?"

"You are the one who started that tradition."

"Maybe I should be the one who ends it."

"You know what the weird thing about all of this is?"

"All of it is weird."

"I'm not even hungry. Are you hungry?"

"Nope."

"I'm just so sleepy. I feel like I could sleep for the next three days."

"Me too."

"Let's go back to bed."

"No."

"No? You want me to go home, to my own bed?"

"No, I want you to shower."

"The bed is sweaty, and..."

"I'll put clean bedclothes on it, while you shower."

"Ok. Then we can go back to sleep?"

"Yes."

"What am I going to wear? I'm soaked in sweat."

"I don't care."

"You don't care? I'll just go around naked, then."

"Suit yourself."

"Ziva?"

"Huh?"

"I think that we're delirious. We are not thinking straight."

"I know."

"Karma really bit us in the ass."


End file.
